Photograph
by Spring Sunrise
Summary: When that picture burns, it's like it never even existed. The past can't be changed or relived; you have to deal with the problems that you have right now.
1. Dan

"That is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect." - _Lone Wolf_ by Jodie Picoult

(~*~*~*~)

Everyone smiles for the camera.

Everyone wants that resulting picture to show them smiling, because a photograph of a smiling person represents a happy memory. After all, smiling people are happy people.

Except when they're not.

There's a picture hanging by a stairway in that place they call "Grace's house," a little crooked, with its colors starting to fade. It's small, maybe five by four inches, and it shows a young girl and an even younger boy smiling for the camera, the sun shining brightly behind them.

I hate it.

They're smiling, but the smiles are so strained that anyone who bothered to look at the picture for more than a few seconds would think that some awful event had just occurred, that some devastating catastrophe had just ruined their lives forever.

Which is exactly what had happened.

Amy's face is red, splotchy, and although her eyes shine, it's from tears, not happiness. It's kind of funny how someone who loves to read so much can be such an open book. As for me, I'm clinging to my father's ghost, and trying to fill the new empty space inside of me with the laughter and jokes that would became my new dad.

I couldn't do it. Couldn't replace him. But I could try, and I could convince myself that that was enough to get through my life.

But it's still not enough to completely hide the part of me that misses my dad so bad that it hurts. All the jokes in the world can't fill the dark hole inside that kid in the photograph.

His parents are gone, and he doesn't know why. He went to bed as usual last night, after being tucked in by his mom like on every other night, expecting to wake up the next day to share yet another normal day with his family. Why would he expect anything else, when a happy life with his parents is all he knows?

Why would he expect anything else?

Because normalcy, routine, unconditional and everlasting love, and all of those things that can make you feel like you'll be comfortable and safe for more than a single fleeting moment are illusory._ Something_ will ruin it. A fire, a disease, a revelation that your family, your life, is not what you thought it was. Anything that you think will never change is a lie, because it can and it _will_ change and leave you shocked, broken.

A photograph that shows a smiling brother and sister must show happy children, and that photograph must be absolute, _lasting_ proof that those children were once happy.

And we once were, before everything changed.

But that photograph _isn't_ proof that we were happy; smiles can be faked, laughter forced, and love pretended. And when everything really is perfect, it doesn't last. Nothing good ever does. It _dies_.

When that picture burns, it's like it never even existed. The past can't be changed or relived; you have to deal with the problems that you have right now.

But if you can't be happy, at least you can try to keep your world from falling apart, piece by piece, person by person.

* * *

A/N: Yes, it should be "so badly," not "so bad," but as much as Dan has grown throughout the books, he's still a thirteen-year-old boy, and English isn't his specialty. He's going to make grammatical mistakes.


	2. Amy

"It is not adversity that kills, but the impatience with which we bear adversity." - Unknown prisoner in the Tower of London

(~*~*~*~)

Right now, Grace's house feels unbearably empty.

It's not the lack of furniture that makes it feel that way, although we're still in the middle of replacing everything lost in the fire, and it's not the sheer size of the house, either. It's the absence of Grace that makes the emptiness so stifling.

Maybe it's silly of me to think we can rebuild Grace's house without Grace, but we can come close. Besides, this new house isn't without its merits. Yes, the library lacks books, but I really can't wait to choose my favorites to fill the shelves, like _Jane Eyre_ and _Oliver Twist_ and _The Hobbit_ and all of the Harry Potter books and _The Lightening __Thief_, just to name a few. I'd love to add anything written by Rick Riordan or Peter Lerangis or Margaret Peterson Haddix. They write some of the most exciting stories. And, of course, Jules Verne writes amazing adventures. His novels and short stories are absolutely brilliant. The problem with short stories, though, is that they don't last long. There's this wonderful story by Mona Gardner called "The Dinner Party" -

... I'm sorry. I _always_ talk too much when I think about books. But I'm back on track now. That reminded me of how much I'm looking forward to someday holding a family dinner in the dining room without anyone fighting. Hamilton _did_ promise that he wouldn't try to play football with the turkey next time, and I think Sinead's learned not to lecture Ian on "learning to deal with his problems like an adult, not some immature stuck-up teenager." I'm not sure what problems she was talking about, but that's one of the few things that's _not_ on my to-do list. Actually, now that I think about it, there's a lot of stuff that I've found myself looking forward to doing in the new house.

It's difficult to pick my favorite thing about Grace's house, but if I had to narrow it down, the photograph hanging by the front stairway would be near the top of the list. Its colors are a bit faded and it's a little crooked, but these features have never bothered me in the slightest. In fact, I never even noticed them until Ian criticized the photograph, along with nearly everything and everyone else in the house.

But that's just Ian. Despite what he says, I like the picture. Mostly, I like what it shows. Dan and I are smiling, and the sun is shining brightly in the background.

The funny thing is that we're smiling, but our smiles are so strained that it looks like there's just been some devastating death in the family.

That picture was taken at our parents' funeral.

I look awful; it's obvious that I've been crying. Dan's always been better than me at burying his emotions, and, at first glance, the grin on his four-year-old face appears to be a genuine one. But if you know him well, it doesn't take much to see the pain and confusion he's covering up with smiles and laughter.

What's amazing is that he was able to do that. I'm still learning to just roll my sleeves up and deal with my problems, but he's been cracking jokes since the beginning. Even though the clue hunt's taken a hard toll on him, he's still able to goof around, especially when he's with Atticus.

Yet for that photograph, even _I_ was able to smile. It didn't matter how miserable I was feeling and how grim the future looked, something inside of me was able to pull out that smile for the camera. My happy little world was destroyed, but I was okay. I must have been okay, if I was able to pull out a smile. Life was still worth living. I still had my books and my friends, and, more importantly, I still had Dan and Grace.

Even with all that's going on with the Vespers, I sometimes find myself enjoying small moments of happiness. Researching with Jake. Talking with Atticus. Even watching Dan act like an immature dweeb who says completely inappropriate things about curses on diamonds and Thai culture. Not to mention - uh, never mind.

No matter how awful things are, we can still find in ourselves the ability to smile for the camera.


End file.
